The Dance of the Dragon and The Phoenix
by Gryffin's Heir
Summary: Harry Potter And Hermione Granger Are thrown into a new Prophesy, new friends/allies, and Harry's Inheritance. Manipulative Dumbledore. Major Ron and Ginny Bashing


Dance of Dragon and Phoenix

**A/N: **Hello, I am a new writer. This is my first fan fiction that has been published online Remember, I own nothing except what has been created with my own imagination. Meaning, the Dragon, its' name, all other inventions of my overactive imagination, and the plot. J.K.R. owns almost everything else basically. Reviewing is good for the soul, and it helps me to write the stories. Any comments are welcome, whether they be nice or not-so-nice. Just keep it tidy.

**Note: I admit, it will go a little slow at first, but I have to get the general story line down first, so all the action can actually happen with out you going, "Huh??" So, patience, little ones.**

**Chapter One**

"Checkmate!"

Harry groaned as he looked over the chess pieces. Ron had now beaten him four times in a row. He knew that his friend was adding it to his invisible tally mark chart even now.

"Ron," came a soft voice, "don't you think you could let someone win, even if it is just once?"

Ron looked up with a shocked look on his face at the figure whose face was buried behind a book.

"Hermy?!" he gasped, "How could you say such a thing?"

Hermione lifted her eyes from her book and looked at Ron with a disgusted face.

"Just as easily as you say 'Hermy'. Honestly, Ron, I hate it when you say that!"

Harry watched with mixed anger and annoyance. They had been bickering ever since he had returned to Privet Drive. And over the stupidest and infinitesimal things.

"Could you guys just _stop_ arguing for one day? _One damn day?!_" Harry asked, anger boiling.

Ron looked at Hermione in alarm. He knew she could _always_ fix Harry... Erm, he didn't mean fix. Just... calm down... Yes! She could _always_ calm Harry down. Just scratch that last part... Please?

Back to the story...

"Harry, look, we are sorry. It's hard being cooped up in here together and not be able to see other people... Forgive us?"

"What the hell do you think I have gone through every damn summer?" he said, his voice dangerously low, "Do you think I get to hop through meadows of green grass and dandelions?"

"We aren't used to this! I apologized! What more do you want us to do?"

Harry sighed. Nothing. He didn't want anything from them, really. He just wanted them to go home. Yes, he enjoyed the company, but they were putting their lives in danger... And for _him_.

Hermione eyed Harry nervously, afraid he was going to lose his temper.

"I'm sorry," he choked, "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for bringing you here... I'm sorry for ever being your friend."

"Harry..." she cooed. Giving Ron a look that meant 'clear-off-or-you're-dead', she hugged Harry close to her, as soon as Ron was out of the room. "I wouldn't trade you for anything. I would gladly risk my life for you a trillion times, rather than see you alone... or... or--"

"Dead," he finished.

"But you won't be!" she replied, stubbornly, "At least not when I still have breath in my lungs!"

Harry looked at her. He just looked. He noticed how her hair fell in little ringlets that cascaded over her shoulders. He noticed how pink, and soft her lips looked. He noticed how long and dark her eyelashes were, and how she had a small sprinkle of freckles that covered her nose. The laugh lines that he had surely made appear whenever she smiled. When she smiled at _him_. And then he noticed her eyes... How deep and _warm_ they were. How there were flecks of amber and gold mixed in with the chocolate color. Emotions were free to reign in her eyes... Determination, happiness, love...

"Harry, _Harry_!"

Harry snapped out of his trance, "Wha-what?"

"Were you listening to me?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

He smiled sheepishly, "Er... no. I was..."

"In your own world?" she said. It wasn't an insult, nor was it said with harshness. But it was warm, and comforting.

"Yeah... Sorry."

"No need to apologize, but try to listen from now on."

"Right, so, what did you say?"

"No point in it now," she glanced at the clock, "It's almost dinner time. C'mon, let's go downstairs. I know that Ron will be waiting for us."

Harry followed her to the door of his small bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive. He looked distastefully around the room, wishing he could give her a nicer place to stay, but knew it was useless. He wasn't even of age yet, and he still had that damned tracking device in his wand... In fact, all of them did.

He clambered downstairs after her, and met his... _relatives_.

"We're going out," his uncle stated, "and we don't need you and your _friends_ messing up the place. So keep it clean or... we'll find something to do."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied tonelessly. It was more of a routine, or autopilot, if you want to call it that.

"You will have to make yourself dinner, dear," his Aunt Petunia said to him, once his uncle was out the door, "There is a salad in the refrigerator, feel free to use it. And be safe."

Harry looked at her oddly as she walked out the door, wrapping her shawl more tightly around herself. _What the ruddy hell has gotten into her?_ he thought. His exact words were repeated by none other than Hermione, who stood in shock close behind him.

"What the ruddy _hell_ has gotten into _her_?"

"I have no idea," he told her, a little put off by her word use. He shoved the thought out of his mind as he entered the overly clean kitchen. He automatically started to get out ingredients for the nights meal, while Ron had fun with the television remote.

"Is this the thing that works the Vellytision?" He asked, curiously examining the plastic box.

"Yes, Ron," said Hermione, snatching the remote out of his hand and setting it atop the television, all the while rolling her eyes and talking to him as if he was a two-year-old, "it is, but leave it alone."

"Why?" Ron asked, indignantly.

"It _bites_," she said, emphasizing the word `bites' with a snap of her straight teeth.

Ron flinched and not-so-subtlely backed away from the television set all together.

"So," he said, turning his attention away from the `bloody muggle invention', as he called it in his muttering, and to Harry and the food on the counter, "what's for dinner?"

"Chicken," he said, pushing Ronald away from the counter, "and it isn't done yet, so keep your grubby hands off."

"My hands aren't grubby!" Ron retorted, as if stung.

"Yes, Ron, they are," added in Hermione, who was, at the moment, chopping up onions.

"You know," Ron began, seeing an opening where he could feel superior... Just once, "you could use your wand." He pulled out his fairly new wand and started to do the hand motion, but Harry pushed it away.

"No. No way. If we did use magic, we wouldn't have the self satisfaction and taste of a homemade meal."

"It would still be homemade," Ron muttered, plopping down in a kitchen chair, "just not the way you were thinking of."

Hermione smiled to herself. There were her boys. And boy, did she love them. Even if they did have their... Moments.

***

"This is really good!" Ron praised, his mouth disgustingly full.

"Ron--" Hermione started, but was cut off by a small growl to her left.

Harry was sitting there, his food pushed away, and a scowl on his face.

_We really must be bugging him..._

Harry looked at her with his look. She couldn't refuse _that look_.

"Ron, just swallow before you speak," she corrected herself.

Harry gave her a grateful smile.

"Well, if you don't mind, I am not that hungry. I think I will turn in for the night."

"Well, `Night Harry," Ron said, his mind solely focused on the delicious food before him.

Hermione, the smart witch that she was, literally, knew that there was something wrong.

"Well, Ron," she said, faking a yawn and stretching exaggeratedly, "I am going to bed. Eat up. You need your strength."

"Yes, ma'am!" He said, enthusiastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes, a grimace on her face, before patting his back, which made him choke, and strolling upstairs.

"Harry?" She asked, knocking first on his door, and then entering.

She saw him sitting on the bed, staring out the window at the full moon.

"Remus has already transformed," he stated, absently.

"I know," she replied, joining him on the bed. She studied his face, memorizing every line, every mark, and every emotion that flooded the very handsome features of her best friend.

"He's happy, Hermione. I felt it. He is bloody happy. And he is only happy when..."

"Someone is dead or injured," she finished for him.

"Yeah..."

Harry's jaw clenched and unclenched.

"I can't do anything about it," he said, his voice just above a whisper. She had to lean in closer to hear him, "I can't, and it is just about killing me. Every time he hurts someone... I feel it. He is a raving madman and I can feel every damn emotion that goes through him. It's sickening."

Hermione felt the briefest flash of pity well up inside her, but as soon as it came, she clamped down on it. Harry had no tolerance for pity. It could neither solve their problem, or make it better.  
Seeing Harry's pain only hardened her resolve. They were going to find those horcruxes, and then they were going to defeat the bastard.

"I think... Hermione... Maybe, maybe... Maybe I'm one..."

He had just spoken her greatest fear... Him being a horcrux.

"No!" She almost yelled, "No! There is no way that you are a horcrux. No way."

"But then... Why does my scar hurt so much when I go near him?"

"Because it is a mark that he left on you. A curse, and bloody hell, he will pay for what he has done to you."

Harry looked at her face. He saw the determination. He saw the cogs working behind that face of hers. And he saw the desperation. The desperation to know that he wasn't _one of them_. To know that he was safe.

"You can read me like a book, can't you?"

He smiled at her... A small smile, but it still warmed her heart. And he nodded.

"Yeah," she sighed, "same for me. You were always a horrible liar, anyways."

"Oh, well, that's nice."

"It is, isn't it? Not needing to lie... Well, not _wanting_ to lie, actually. It does you good, doesn't it? Makes you happier." She sighed, and looked at the moon. The moon at which Harry himself had stared at for so many months in this same exact room. Summer after summer. Night after night. Cooped up with not a soul to talk to, and no information about the outside world.

The loud parade of voices and the opening of the front door marked the arrival back home of the Dursleys.

"BOY! GET DOWN HERE!" yelled his Uncle's voice.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," he replied, just loud enough to be heard back downstairs.

Harry made his way downstairs to see not only his only living relatives, but Aunt Petunia berating Vernon for calling Harry `boy'.

"He doesn't need your... Your insolence! He already has enough on his plate, and doesn't need anymore! Leave. Him. Alone."

Harry cleared his throat.

"Oh!" His aunt exclaimed, "I didn't see you there. Well, we are home, and Vernon was going to... Ask you to fix dinner but, you don't need to. Why don't you and your friends go out and see a movie?" She asked, handing him a blank check, "And go buy something like... Clothes. Spend as much as you want. Dudders? Help me in the kitchen." And then she was off.

"But, mum--"

"No `buts', young man! Get in here!" She yelled from the other room.

Dudley groaned, but did as his mother said.

All the while, Uncle Vernon was eyeing Harry maniacally.

"I've got my eye on you, boy," he spat, "and I will find out what you did to my wife."

"Vernon Rugfurd Dursley! How dare you make such a speculation," accused Petunia. She had been listening in the other room, "He has done nothing, and he wouldn't _dare_ do anything to me! I am doing this of my own free will! And if you don't like it, LEAVE!"

His uncle cringed at her words.

"No, d-dear."

"Good," she replied, heading back into the kitchen. Her voice could be heard telling Dudley to, "Set the dinner table."

With one last glare, Vernon followed his wife into the kitchen.

"Well," said a voice quite close behind Harry, "that was odd."

He turned around quickly to see Hermione dressed in jeans, a green jumper, and trainers.

"Night on the town, eh?"

She blushed slightly, "And shopping for you, Mr. Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes, and grabbed her hand. He was about to head out the door when--

"Where's Ron?"

Hermione's eyes grew large.


End file.
